Insidious
by kamikumai
Summary: It came on in such a manner with a complete lack of symptoms that it took him completely unawares. Warnings: Slash, Wincest. Note: Related in part to the first season episode, ‘Bugs.’


**Word from the Author:** Right. So, uh. This? This just kinda randomly hit me as I was rewatching the first season of SPN, dubbed in German. It was quite the experience, and after awhile I couldn't help but love Sam and Dean and their crazy German voice actors almost as much as I love Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. But, that being a complete and utter non-sequitur to this fic, let's continue shall we? On with the story!

**Disclaimer:** For what is probably the thousandeth time, I reiterate, _not_ mine.

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**Insidious**

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There was something strangely exhilarating about a new crush - the game, the chase, the intrigue, even. There was the warm feeling that he would get in the pit of his stomach, and sometimes lower, when he felt attraction tug at him, and better yet, when he knew they felt it too. It had happened to him before, on a number of occasions; of course, some were by far more memorable than others. The first, for example, had been a cute brunet who had sat two rows forward and to the left from him in English, who would just so happen to grin lopsidedly at him whenever they passed one another in the corridors. And while neither of them had ever done anything or said anything or anything like that, he was sure that they had just _connected_ – instantly, without names or meaningless small talk ever having been exchanged.

But soon enough, as the case so often seemed to be, his feelings faded, dulled as time passed and contact lessened.

The next year, it had been someone different. And then, perhaps only a month or so would go by before he found himself looking in a new direction, at another someone else. And so on, and so forth.

But speaking of the most memorable, it wasn't until about a year ago that he found that sometimes crushes just… weren't enough.

This realization came in the form of Jamie Addison, another gorgeous brunet, but whose hair was also lightly streaked blond by the sun. He first met Jamie Addison in their very first bio class, sophomore year. They had been partnered together for pracs. He'd dreamt about Jamie Addison for months after that first fateful meeting. He'd dreamt, night in and night out, of velvet brown eyes, of the smoothest, softest complexion, of straight white teeth that seemed to somehow further brighten that fucking _stunning_ smile.

At the time, he hadn't thought he could possibly get harder for anyone else in his life. After all, he was a teenager, and if anything, teenagers were nothing if not capable of expressions in the extreme. In his case, such an expression wasn't simply emotional, it was also physical. It felt as if his entire body was alive for that one person. That when they were around he couldn't see, feel, think, smell or envision anyone else.

He had thought he'd known infatuation then, as they had grown from bio lab partners to friends. The friendship had been oddly easy; they had sort of just fallen into a routine that worked for them. It had often seemed as though they were just naturally in tune with one another, so much so that they grew closer and closer still, from being easy friends, to best friends… and then to more.

It was sometimes odd for him to think about this. He didn't really consider himself to be anything special, sure he was actually pretty smart, and fairly mature, but he also found that most people considered the kind of things he found himself interested in a bit… weird, to put it nicely. He also didn't consider himself to be all that much to look at really. Sure, he had fairly nice shaggy brown hair, and he'd been complimented about his eyes, girls always seemed to like his eyes, but other than that? He wasn't built. Nor was he particularly tall for his age. And yet, apparently Jamie found him attractive enough.

Enough, in fact, that one day when they'd simply been hanging out round at Jamie's place, Jamie had sidled up beside him on the couch, languorously stretching, pressing along his side. The move had had him almost completely erect, but perhaps that wasn't really saying anything given that he was nearly always half-hard simply from being in Jamie's presence. The only thing was he never thought he'd had a chance, because Jamie was, to his eyes, _perfect_. Not just in an aesthetically pleasing way, but in a way that really made you _feel_.

So it was with something not all that far from shock, that he realized that Jamie was coming onto _him_. And it was like a dream, or rather, a really, really fucking hot fantasy, come true. His best friend, his absolutely gorgeous best friend whose image he jerked off to, had wedged a leg directly against him. With awe-filled wonder, he felt Jamie's own erection pressing into his hip, hot and hard through the light material of his casual pants. And then the friction began, as Jamie rubbed himself against his hip, gasping sharply into his ear. He let his own arms wrap around Jamie, as Jamie squirmed against him and held on tight. Then all of a sudden the movement stopped, froze. Before Jamie propelled himself out of the embrace and dropped to his knees on the floor. With shaking hands, Jamie pushed gently against his legs, silently asking for permission. Willingly, he granted it, letting them part, letting himself sag prone into the cushions at his back. In spite of his seemingly relaxed state, there was certainly one part of him that was unwilling to do anything but stand up and hope that Jamie would take notice of it.

Lucky for him, Jamie did. Still shaking fingers grew steadier by the moment as they met no resistance, swiftly divesting him of his belt, before nimbly unbuttoning the confines of his jeans. The fingers stilled when they reached his boxers, and he found himself looking into caramel-coloured eyes that seemed to beg for him to give them what they wanted.

And so he did. Suddenly compelled by the situation, he hauled Jamie up by his shirt, until their mouths met and locked, tongues gliding smoothly one against the other, as if they had done this a million times before. And like almost everything else with them, they found a natural rhythm. They moved against each other, but never in true opposition. It was a dance of give and take more so than anything else. And once he'd tasted his fill, for the moment at least, he drew back, letting hands he hadn't realized had wandered into golden locks gently smooth their way down the soft skin of Jamie's nape, to rest on his shoulders, his thumbs stroking soothingly along Jamie's collarbones and against the sensitive hollow of his neck.

This time when their eyes met, he saw nothing but adoration in those molten liquid depths, and he couldn't help smiling at the look of awe _he_ was receiving. He wouldn't have thought it possible for anyone to look at him quite like that, but Jamie did. And it was a feeling more amazing than he could find the words to describe.

The fingers returned, and seemingly having been reassured of something by that achingly searing kiss, they ran without restraint over his length, stroking him through the cotton blend of his boxers, before easily slipping under the elastic to glide against skin.

He shivered at the touch, and then at the kiss of cold air as Jamie yanked his pants and boxers, both, down under his knees, leaving them to pool on their own about his ankles.

He'd thought, _this is the one_, as Jamie stroked him then, strong, warm fingers grasping, twisting, sliding along him, _just right_. No one but himself had ever touched him there, in _that_ way, before Jamie. He hadn't known how incredibly intense it could be. And he had loved being able to find out.

What had done him in, in that moment though, were the words Jamie had whispered in his ear, his normally smooth voice turned husky, stained as it was with sympathetic arousal, and the things he said? Some of it was so dirty he imagined he would have blushed non-stop for hours on end had his brain not already been preoccupied with other functions, such as the burning white blindingly hot pleasure that was skimming along just beneath his skin, pulsing from nerve endings and firing in flashes across his senses. It was overwhelming. It was exquisite. It was perfect.

And then for moments he knew nothing but pleasure, pure and simple.

Mellowed by a mind-blowing orgasm, he'd happily returned the favor. Unhurriedly he shuffled, trying to make room enough to push Jamie down onto the couch, straddling him once he did so, yanking him free from his pants and boxers, watching as Jamie's cock, which he was pleased to note was just as gorgeous as the rest of him, seemed to tremble before his very eyes. With curiosity, more so than trepidation, he'd taken Jamie in hand, noting as he did so the subtle differences as well as the general similarities between them. He watched on avidly as his touch wrenched reactions, sounds, exhalations, and a creative variety of cusses, from the body beneath him.

It was an eye-opening experience to see his friend, who was usually so controlled, so… demure, practically fall apart, all because of _him_.

Watching Jamie come though had been the highlight of the whole experience, perhaps even more so than even his own orgasm. The vulnerability his friend had shown, etched across his face, along the long, lean lines of his body as he shook, his mouth opening deliciously on a moan, even as his fingers clenched at the cushions beneath him, touched him inexplicably.

There was just something unspeakably _hot_ about doing that to another guy. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was something else, in all honesty he really hadn't cared. All he knew was that he loved it, the rush he got as he tore his friend apart at the seams, using pleasure as his finely honed weapon.

He hadn't thought anything could ever appeal to him more.

And as it just so happens with thoughts such as those, he'd been wrong.

He hated how his mind so often drifted to think of him. His knight in shining armor. Perhaps it was trite to call him that, but it was also true. Were it not for the man in question, he wouldn't have even made it to his 17th birthday.

Now, even though he still felt more for Jamie than he had for anyone else in his entire life, sometimes when he closed his eyes, burnt there as nothing more than an afterimage was the face of Sam Winchester – his hero.

He'd rid himself of one obsession that night, only to gain another. The worse thing about it, though, was the fact that unlike his bugs, Sam Winchester couldn't be caught and kept, couldn't be tamed or played with. Or thrown out.

Even in his mind, in his fantasies, he was never capable of any of those actions. Instead, he found _himself_ being pinned down, examined at length, poked and prodded, toyed with, tossed aside, and reclaimed, unendingly.

_Come into my web_, said the Spider to the Fly, and without thought, he was caught, entrapped, ensnared, every single time.

Day in, day out, he would go about his business, attending classes, spending time with Jamie. But as soon as he was alone, all he saw were those afterimages, in the darkest corners of his mind. He would recall Sam's warm, gentle smile, at such odds with the burning coldness of his eyes.

He felt as if he would be willing to trade his soul, just to see the glacial frost leave those depths of green, to see them melt into pools of warm verdant, and to have them gaze upon him. But they only ever did that for the one already by his side, his _brother_. He couldn't really bring himself to believe they were brothers – not with the way they looked at each other. There was too much in the way their eyes engulfed one another, too much that screamed otherwise and that whispered at the same time, _lover_.

They were long gone, now. And yet, there was next to no time that he didn't think of them, of Sam. Though he remained, no longer a black sheep, but one sheared white, one accepted by the popular crowds now that his geeky interests weren't keeping the hoards at bay, at times he wasn't entirely sure that he was here at all.

He stayed by Jamie, whom he was pretty sure he was in love with. And who certainly seemed to love him back. The only problem was… he wasn't sure that it was enough. Or that it ever would be.

In the end, Matthew couldn't help but wonder if everyone who met Sam was destined to be spoiled by him, despoiled as Matthew himself had been, by nothing more than glances, and the barest of touches, the most subtle of poisons.

For the briefest of seconds he would wish that they'd never met… and yet never does the thought take hold – he's already addicted to a substance he can never have.

Sam Winchester was nothing if not insidious.

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Finis.

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**Another Word from the Author: **Alrighty, then. So. What did you think? I hope the intro was effective in having you guessing exactly whose PoV you were seeing the world through...! So yeah. I hope you all enjoyed this utterly random piece of insanity that my mind created.

'Til I post again, adieu.


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